Out in Blue (8 page)

Since then, it had become personal for her. Wren wasn’t arrogant, but there was no denying the way her gaze cut right to his core.

“The way you look at her…”

Wren cursed. He needed to reign himself in, needed a distraction.

He shook his wings and curled them forward. Preening—little to do with vanity and everything to do with maintaining feathers that inhibited flight if damaged—served to keep his hands busy and his mind focused on the repetitive motions.

Devin would arrive by evening, Vin had said. Thank God, for Ginger’s sake. If Wren spent any more time with her, he might not be man enough to let her go.

Chapter Ten

Ginger opened her eyes. Wren sat nearby, framed by the golden light of the sunset streaming in through the windows. A deep frown on his face, he ran his fingers through his feathers in a methodical procedure. He bent his wings at odd angles to reach their entire span, except the back of the wings closest to his body, which he couldn’t reach no matter how he contorted himself. Some ragged feathers fell to the floor as he worked.

He met her gaze and stilled.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Are you hungry?”

Ginger unfolded herself from the couch and crossed the space. She reached out and lightly touched his wings near his back as he looked over his shoulder at her, his eyebrows high.

“May I?” She ran a finger down his feathers.

Wren didn’t answer, but after a short hesitation he extended his wings again. Standing at his back she ran her fingers, tentatively at first, along his feathers to smooth the edges.

Wren dropped his head forward and his posture relaxed. “Gin,” he breathed.

Ginger took that as approval and continued her caress with a little more vigor, digging her fingers down to his skin. Wren arched his back and extended his wings to their full span, making the large room seem cramped.

“You have no idea how good that feels,” he said. “But to be honest, we normally only let our mates preen our wings. It’s a very intimate gesture for us.”

She hesitated and lifted her hands. She knew much about archangels, having been raised in the colonies by a Guardian, but nothing beyond the basics. She didn’t know the fine details of archangel mating—only that it was a sacred bond they entered into only once in their lives. Even if the relationship didn’t work out, archangels never took a second mate. Something physically prevented it, she’d been told.

Behaviors mates shared between each other were exclusive and sacred. Why had he let her cross such a line?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be inappropriate—”

“I
don’t
want you to stop,” he said, “but I want you to understand how meaningful this is to me.”

“I do understand,” she whispered. “But…”

“Please,” he breathed, meeting her gaze.

Ginger replaced her hands, one on each wing, and wove her fingers deep into his feathers. Wren sucked in air through his teeth. He dropped his head again, his exhale a low, satisfied sound. She worked her way across his wings for several minutes, making certain to cover the entire area out of his reach.

She paused when a discoloration caught her eye. She brushed aside the feathers nearest the bare skin of his back and stared at a long, ragged scar along the base of his wing. A cut like that could not have been an accident, she realized with a deep shudder. When had his enemies gotten close enough to try to butcher him?

§

“It’s nothing,” Wren said under his breath as he felt Ginger’s fingers trace the scar on his back.

“Liar,” she replied, only concern in her voice.

He folded his wings and turned to face her.

“What happened?” she asked.

Unpleasant tastes filled his mouth. Wet, rotting leaves and pine needles. A metallic tang from blood that had spilled over his shoulder and onto his face.

“Lark?” Ginger ventured, as the silence pressed on.

Wren jerked his chin in confirmation and met her gaze. “Lark went after my mother first that night. She liked to tend the garden in the evenings to beat the summer heat. Father and I were inside, oblivious as Lark abducted her. Father had dozed off reading, so even the bond they shared as mates didn’t alert him. After a while, I went outside to find Mother. I wanted to ask if I could have ice cream… Jesus, what am I doing…you don’t want to hear this…”

He stood and stepped away but Ginger moved with him, her gaze unwavering.

“Tell me,” she urged quietly. “I want to understand what happened.”

Wren glanced out the south windows, where the rose gardens were visible in the yard below and the former vegetable patch—now grass covered—could be seen beyond it.

“I didn’t find her in the garden, but I heard sounds and followed them down the path into the woods. Lark wasn’t trying to hide; I stumbled onto them only a couple hundred feet from the house. Mother was alive and mostly unharmed, compared to…later. She was gagged and barely conscious. Her hands were over her head, secured by blades through her palms to a tree.”

He rubbed his own hands and began to pace. “Lark was there, whispering into her ear. I thought he was there to help her, of course, so I ran right to them. I didn’t see the strike, he moved so fast. One second I was reaching for Mother, the next I was face down on the forest floor, held down under Lark’s weight. I fought, but I was ten, and he was a seven-foot demon. The pain was excruciating as he dug the blade into my back, pulling my wing with one hand and cutting with the other.”

Wren twitched from the flood of bitter regret. At age ten, his psychic talents had recently manifested, but Lark had known and had prepared. He’d worn leather gloves and a jacket despite the summer heat; no skin contact, and Wren’s ability was mute. Otherwise, Wren could have ripped the life from Lark right then and there. If only. If
fucking
only.

“The leaves scattered around me, and I saw my father’s wings out of the corner of my eye, then Lark’s weight disappeared from my body. I twisted around and saw Father and Lark fighting. Lark is a legendary warrior, but Father was holding his own. Lark actually stumbled, something I’d never seen before. Father yelled at me to run. The distraction cost him; Lark buried a knife under his ribs.

“I ran, if you can call it that. With the injury, I could barely move, but I kept going until I found help. No cell phones in those days. By the time the Guardians got back here, my mother, my father, and Lark were gone. Feathers littered the clearing and blood splattered the trees, so much blood, no one doubted that both my parents were dead. They did doubt my assertion that Lark was the perpetrator, until they found my mother around dawn the next morning, with a message from Lark claiming responsibility.”

“I wouldn’t have believed it, either,” Ginger whispered. “
Why
did Lark do this? I had assumed it was the money he’d get for the feathers. But this is too much, too personal to be simple greed. He was a
Guardian
…”

Wren flicked his wings. “It’s definitely personal. But I honestly don’t know why. I was a kid. I don’t remember any change in Lark’s behavior, no sign that anything was wrong.”

Ginger shook her head. “I think children are
more
perceptive of such things than adults.”

“I trusted him. Lark saved my parents’ lives and mine only months prior, when Sanctuary was attacked by a large group of extremists. Growing up, he was like a big brother to me, another member of the family. Even seeing him with my mother pinned to that tree didn’t make me think twice. It took the knife in my back to make reality sink in.”

Wren stared hard at Ginger, wanting to see
her
rather than the images swirling in his head. No pity showed on her face, to his relief, nor the disgust of someone who couldn’t handle it. But she wouldn’t have a weak stomach, wouldn’t be fragile or naive. She’d grown up in the colonies. She knew the reality all nonhumans faced, even if she’d never before been in the middle of an archangel’s struggle.

“Thank you,” she said. “It means a lot to me that you were able to share that.”

“I shouldn’t mean anything to you, Gin.”

“But you do.” She stepped forward. “How I feel about you is not something Lark has the power to change.”

“Then you are a very brave, foolish woman.”

“I can live with that.”

He pulled her close and kissed her, lingering, giving her all he had, driven by a desperation brought on by the last rays of the sun that glinted over the mountain. Goodbye would come any minute now, with the arrival of Devin.

And Wren would absolutely not give in to his desire to keep her near. The more he felt for her, the more he had to keep her safe. That meant letting her go, even though the sense of impending loss threatened to crush him.

When he released her, he took each of her hands in his and ran his thumbs over her fingers. He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers.

“I brought food. You should eat something. Devin is going to be here soon.”

Her eyes flashed. She looked ready to argue as she opened her mouth. He lifted a hand and covered her lips with a finger. “Please. Let’s not talk about what we cannot change. Before you go, have dinner with me?”

She stared at him for a moment, then shut her eyes and nodded.

Wren led her to the kitchen and had her sit while he served the lasagna, salad, and wine Lexine had packed for them. Food still held no appeal in the grand scheme of things, but starving himself wouldn’t do him or anyone else any good. The only worthwhile part of the effort was sharing the normal activity with Ginger. He spent more time watching her than eating.

Ginger picked at her food without enthusiasm. After a few minutes, she pushed her half-eaten lasagna aside and folded her arms on the edge of the granite countertop.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Wren didn’t feel the fork fall from his fingers but he heard it hit the tile floor.

She knotted her fingers. “I realize you may find this odd. I’ve had a couple boyfriends and I am not a virgin. But I’ve never kissed anyone until you.”

Wren had to swallow before he could speak. “Kissing usually comes before intimacy.”

She nodded, her cheeks so red, her blue eyes seemed violet, but her gaze was steady and unflinching. “I didn’t have any feelings beyond friendship for the man I slept with, years ago, in Haven. We had a long relationship with no depth, and the casual, no strings attached kind of sex. I wanted the first man I kissed to mean more to me than that. I wanted to mean more to
him
.”

“Gin—”

“You let me touch and even preen your wings. So, I know I used that first kiss wisely.”

Wren moved around the kitchen island, pulled her to her feet and eased her back against the wall. He pressed his body against hers and nuzzled her neck, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin below her ear and breathing her in.

The essence of jasmine still clung to her skin. Could it be her natural scent was so lovely?

Ginger shivered and ran her hands along his shoulders to his hair, coaxing his face up to hers. She stared into his eyes as she kissed him, the intense warmth in her gaze making his chest ache.

“You didn’t deserve that,” Wren said, when he came up for air.

“Huh?”

“Casual sex.” He stroked her hair back from her face and moved his body against hers so that a breathless mew escaped her throat. “He didn’t deserve to touch you, if that’s all he had to offer. Damn it, if I could make love to you, I’d—”

The cell phone rang. He ignored it, refusing to release Ginger from the tight embrace. But as soon as the infuriating chimes silenced, they started over again.

He released her and snatched the phone from the counter.

“Yes?” he snapped.

Vin’s voice answered. “Devin is here. He’s on his way over now.”

“We’ll meet him out front.” Wren disconnected the call and shut his eyes.

Chapter Eleven

Ginger’s heart beat too fast as Wren hung up the phone. She stayed against the wall, her hands clenched into fists, taking deep breaths.

Wren set the phone down on the counter, resignation written on his features.

“Devin is here.” He tapped the phone. “I hope you don’t mind if I keep this? Lark will be calling again.”

Ginger waved off the phone.

“This way.” Wren led her out the doors to the flight deck. The clouds had cleared and the wind had died down, leaving only cold stillness under the star-speckled sky. He picked her up and glided down to the lawn below. He set her on the frozen grass, his hands lingering on her arms.

Ginger glanced over and saw Devin moving swiftly toward them. In the moonlight, Devin’s light skin and platinum-blond hair appeared spectral, a disconcerting contrast to his black clothing and leather jacket. His copper eyes reflected the light like a nocturnal animal.

Wren brushed a light kiss across her cheek and stepped back. Without him near, the temperature plummeted.

Devin closed the remaining distance and pulled her into a bear hug.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” He released her.

Ginger pulled at the neck of her sweater, just enough to reveal the top of the ragged scar above her heart. “I’m fine.”

Devin stared, his eyes haunted, and lifted his gaze to where Wren stood, a few yards away.

“Thank you.” Devin’s voice broke. He straightened and rolled his shoulders back, the steely composure of a highly trained Guardian covering the raw wound of a shaken father. “I can’t thank you enough, Wren.”

Wren shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Devin dropped his gaze back to Ginger. “Are you ready to go? The more miles we cover before dawn, the better.”

Her stomach lurched, and she glanced back at Wren. The logic for leaving was flawless. She had no doubt Lark would make good on his threat if given the chance; Wren’s fear was not a baseless one.

But she wasn’t the kind of person to let fear or dire odds turn her away from what she felt was right, and being with Wren felt…
very
right. The depth of her emotions was illogical; she’d only known Wren for two days. But somehow, she had connected with him in a way that transcended the calendar.

“Ginny?” Devin prompted.

Wren returned her gaze with a slight shake of his head. “Goodbye, Gin. Be safe.”

Simple words, toneless voice, but his gaze remained intense.

“Wren…”

He stepped further away. Ginger swallowed and fisted her hands, digging her nails into her palms. What choice did she have? Besides, she had her dignity. She would not make a scene. She respected the hell out of him for this, truth be told. He wanted her as much as she wanted him—no way he’d kiss her with so much intensity if he didn’t—yet he wasn’t asking her to stay. He was putting her safety over his own desires. She didn’t consider herself a fragile female who needed constant coddling, but Lark wasn’t a speeding bus or even a simple killer. That demon was evil incarnate.

Ginger lifted her chin.

“Goodbye, Wren,” she said, feeling like she was watching herself from a distance, making a huge mistake. She turned back to Devin. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

She fell into step next to Devin as they headed down the groomed path. She did glance back, but moonlight illuminated an empty lawn. She clenched her teeth and kept walking.

Silence and darkness reigned at first, but the forest exploded with life as they neared the heart of the colony. Music and voices wafted through the trees. Three young demons darted across the path in an apparent game of tag.

The first houses came into view, constructed of pine logs and stone, all lit with demon-fire torches. Demons of all ages mingled around tables of food and blazing fire pits, most with beverages in their hands. The curiosity of many gazes lingered on Ginger as she and Devin passed. She squared her shoulders to look confident, unused to being the unknown human amongst the demons.

“I didn’t realize you missed Haven so much,” Devin said, regret thick in his voice.

“Vin told you?”

Devin nodded. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“Don’t be. I did need to experience both worlds. Now I can never doubt where home is.”

She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over her shoulder again. The archangel house had disappeared from view, but it pulled at her with magnetic force.

“Something wrong?” Devin followed her gaze.

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

He arched a platinum-blond eyebrow.

She didn’t want to talk. “I’m just tired.”

His narrowed-eyed expression said he didn’t buy it, but he didn’t call her on the lie. “Sorry for my timing, but we’ll travel a lot faster in nighttime traffic. I brought blankets and pillows. You can sleep in the backseat.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m damned proud of you,” Devin said. “You scared me to within an inch of my life, but what you did for Wren was phenomenal.”

Ginger hooked her arm around his and took in her surroundings as they walked. Sanctuary reminded her so much of Haven, of home, despite the hard stares hitting the back of her head. She sighed. At least she was going home, not back to that lonely house she’d rented for the past several years.

Devin exchanged brief greetings with some demons as they passed through the colony center. Suddenly, a female darted across the path in front of them, drawing a startled gasp from Ginger. The woman, covered in a gray mourning robe, glanced up, her eyeshine bright in the light of the lanterns. Wisps of platinum-blond hair escaped from her hood, framing her face.

“Apologies,” she said, dropping her eyes to the ground. She hurried off, away from the others, toward the lake.

Ginger stared after the female demon, her light-gray robe visible in the darkness until the trees swallowed her. “That’s peculiar.”

Deaths, births, matings…demons celebrated and commiserated as a group. If there’d been a death, everyone would be dressed in gray and engaged in the mourning rituals, not these festive activities. Why was one woman off on her own, dressed so?

“Indeed.” Devin cocked his head. “That must be Amelia. I’ve heard she’s worn only her mourning robes since her mate and son were killed, years ago, in the same attack on Sanctuary when Wren killed Thornton Bailey. Let’s keep moving.”

The houses thinned as they took a path that meandered uphill, toward the town hall. Ginger shivered as the music and chatter faded.

They reached Sanctuary’s central building, the only access point to the colony for large vehicles. Instead of heading directly to the parking area, Devin led her through the town hall front doors, into the immaculate lobby. Post and beam architecture, the staple of Sanctuary’s buildings, gave the formal space a cozy atmosphere.

He guided her toward the stairs. “I need to speak to Vin, but it’ll only take a moment.”

“I’ll wait here.” She pulled away, eager for a moment alone.

He hesitated, glanced around the empty lobby, then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared up the stairs. She was about to sink into a chair when her skin crawled, followed by a bone-deep chill. Glancing around, she rubbed her arms.

A Guardian she hadn’t noticed a moment ago stood by the opposite wall, staring at her from under tousled red hair. His sudden appearance didn’t alarm her; Guardians patrolled the colonies constantly and discreetly. However, she saw the potted tree and chair through his transparent form, and his feet didn’t quiet touch the ground.
That
made her back up against the wall, her lips parted in a silent shout.

The spirit’s gaze bored into her and shock registered on his expression as she stared back. He looked over his shoulder in a “she can’t see
me
, so what is she staring at?” fashion.

“Hello?” she managed to ask, her voice shaking. She’d never been the type to panic, and she chanted mentally to herself to remain calm. This was a Guardian, after all. A Guardian’s ghost. An actual ghost! She took a cautious step forward.

“Not possible,” he murmured, his face twisted in a frown, his voice distant as if speaking from the bottom of a well.

“What’s not possible? That I can see you?”

His copper eyes flashed and he rushed forward, stopping only a few feet from her. A gasp escaped her throat and she staggered back against the wall once again. The ghost held up his hands, palms forward.

“Listen to me,” he began. “I don’t know how you can see me, and I don’t care right now. I know where Raphael is.”

“
What?
”

“You have to tell Vin. Follow me.” The spirit walked across the lobby even though his feet never quite touched the floor and passed through a wall.

Ginger ran to the door nearest the point where the Guardian had vanished. She entered a small office. The spirit stood behind the cluttered desk and pointed down at a pad of paper. “I need you to write down what I have to tell you.”

Ginger dutifully sat down and snatched a pencil.

“Raphael is in Burlington.” The spirit gave an address. “The house is in a heavily wooded neighborhood on the edge of the city. Lark converted the basement level into a prison.”

“Burlington!” Ginger glanced up. Vermont’s largest city sprawled along the shore of Lake Champlain, west of Sanctuary. “That’s only a few hours away!”

“Yes.” The spirit folded his arms. “But getting Raphael out safely is going to be difficult. The building looks like a normal farmhouse, but the security is cutting edge. Five human mercenaries patrol the grounds. The only way to open the steel doors to the prison is with the small remotes Lark and two of the mercenaries wear on chains around their necks…”

As Ginger wrote, she worried. She’d pass the information on to the Guardians, that was a given, but what if they didn’t believe her? They had no reason
not
to trust her; she had no history of lying, mental illness, or even wild imaginings. But a ghostly messenger? Would they believe that?

She wouldn’t. Not if she didn’t see it with her own eyes.

But this was Raphael’s life on the line. They had to listen to her.

“You’re certain?” God help her if she gave this information to the Guardians and it was wrong. “I need you to be certain. When did you see Raphael last?”

“Ten minutes ago. I can travel very quickly.”

She exhaled. “How is he?”

The spirit grimaced. “Bad. His wing was recently broken, and he’s terrified Lark will get his hands on Wren. He has an assisted suicide arrangement with one of Lark’s men. The Guardians
must
get to him as soon as possible.”

“Suicide? Why—”

“So Wren won’t turn himself over to Lark, of course. Raphael’s given up hope of rescue.”

“Shit.” She wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and touched her moist forehead. The room lurched and swayed.

The Guardian leaned forward, scrutinizing her. “Jesus, you have a psychic talent, that’s why you can see me. I’m draining your energy by being here.”

Ginger stared. “A psychic talent? That’s impossible. I’m human—”

“There’s no time to discuss it now. Write, please. Lark has a predicable schedule…”

When the spirit finished, she’d filled several pages with technical specs and maps, schedules and other data. She rubbed her temples and breathed deep and slow, nausea sweeping over her like a wave. “Who are you?”

The demon shook his head, his expression dark. “I don’t matter. Only Raphael matters. His life is in your hands now. See that the Guardians act as soon as possible. I must go.”

The spirit vanished and motion drew Ginger’s gaze to the doorway. Devin stood there, his blond eyebrows high.

“Ginny,” he said. “Who were you talking to?”

She stood up, clutching the notepad to her chest, unsteady on her feet. “Dev, I know where to find Raphael…”

The room tilted and she slumped back into her chair as Devin rushed over. Her vision swimming, she dropped her head into her arms.

§

Wren flew in circles high over the colony as fast he could go, beating his wings hard until even his specialized heart raced from the effort. His wings ached like they had when he’d been a fledgling at age thirteen. He kept pushing himself until the pain was all he could think about, until enough time had gone by that Ginger and Devin had to be on the road and miles away.

Not that he couldn’t catch up with them at his top speed. But he put that thought right out of his mind.

When he landed back at the house, he had to pace the length of the deck to keep from passing out. The moonlight illuminated his feathers. Stretching, he stared at his wings and cursed. While he’d never allow himself to be butchered, he wished he’d been born human. Without wings and psychic talents, he could have had normal relationships with others. A fair trade.

He went inside, showered, and pulled on black jeans from the clothes Jac sent over. After a moment of hesitation, he crossed the hall and opened the door to the room that had been his parents’.